


Last Men on Earth

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kind of Posh living for an apocalypse, Last Two On Earth, Lighthearted considering subject matter, Love, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor pining, Other Gay Sex Stuff Probably, Post extinction event, Post-Apocalypse, RV roadtripping, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, mentions of death of other characters, or are they?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: Dean and Castiel are the last two men alive on earth, after an extinction-level event takes out the entire rest of the population.In the style of the show "Last Man On Earth," mostly fluff and fun and some unexpected surprises along they way, as these two find love at the end of the world.





	1. The Happiest Place On Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Marked as complete because each chapter is essentially a time stamp in their lives; there will be more but there won’t be cliffhangers.
> 
> Chapter 1 was my prompt fill for "Disney" in Promptober.

“Disney World,” Castiel repeats skeptically, from the passenger’s seat of the giant luxury RV he and Dean are currently speeding down I-95 somewhere in the Carolinas in.

“Disney World,” Dean affirms with a decisive nod and a shit-eating grin. “The Happiest Place on Earth!”

Castiel sighs. “Dean,” he says, “Forgive me for being a downer, but I’m not entirely sure that  _any_ where is the,” he breaks out the air quotes, “um, ‘Happiest Place on Earth,’ any longer, least of all an amusement park that requires thousands of humans to maintain and run.”

Dean just shrugs and reaches across the empty space between them to grab Castiel’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it, which makes Castiel, in turn, roll his eyes, though he can’t quite hold back a smile. “Maybe I know something you don’t, sunshine,” he quips. “Besides, you got somewhere more important to be?”

Castiel tilts his head from one side to the other, weighing the questions. “We  _should_ return to Kansas City, sooner rather than later. Should there turn out to be any survivors and should they see our signs, Kansas is where they’ll be headed.”

Dean pretends to pout a little and cocks his head at Castiel, “Awww… sick of me already, baby?”

“Not a baby, Dean,” Castiel replies, reprovingly. “And no, of course not.” He fingers the silver band on his left hand that mirrors Dean’s own, and shoots Dean a heated look and adds, “If you’re not overly anxious to get where we’re going, feel free to pull over and I’d be happy to show you just how not sick of you I am.”

“Or,” Dean suggests cheekily, shifting his hips forward a bit in the driver’s seat, “I could keep driving and you could show me right here.”

Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt and Dean just about bounces with glee until he gets up and squeezes between the seats to return to the living compartment of the RV. “Absolutely not, Dean,” Castiel calls over his shoulder. “Apocalypse or not, road head is dangerous. We survived an extinction event, I don’t want to leave this world forcibly melded with a tree.”

Dean concedes the point and hits the brakes, throwing the RV into park right there in the middle of the highway as soon as they come to a stop. Out of pure force of habit, he removes the key and locks the doors before joining Castiel in the back.

Outside the RV, the highway is deserted as far as the eye can see. There aren’t really abandoned cars, or blockades left from thousands fleeing the cities, because that never happened. The virus came quickly, sweeping the entirety of the United States and presumably beyond in about two weeks time. Just like that everyone they knew from family to friends, to co-workers to politicians and celebrities had succumbed one after another, after another, until there was literally no one left. People died so quickly that most didn’t even make it to hospitals or care clinics. A few government-run quarantine sites were attempted in order to isolate and dispose of infected bodies, but most of those never made it past the “gathering” stage, leaving football stadium length oceans of tarpaulin bodies rotting in the sun. Dean and Castiel avoided those places.  

The world had fallen apart so quickly, and so completely, that resources for survival were still more than plentiful. Tons of canned and processed foods wouldn’t even begin to expire for years to come, the most stable potentially lasting five years or more. In that time, they could find somewhere bountiful to set up a homestead. Plant as much of their food as possible, farm the rest using any surviving animals they came across. Most animals had died out alongside humans, but Castiel had stumbled upon exactly one chicken and had wandered back to the RV one day toting it around on a leash and a studded collar he retrieved from a Petco like some kind of exotic pet. Dean, of course, had voted immediately to turn “Alfie” into a delicious fried dish, but Castiel had turned the puppy eyes on him and pointed out that despite his name, Alfie was actually female, and would be a lot more useful to them providing eggs. Dean begrudgingly admitted he was right, but swallowed his complaints after Castiel whipped up a few of them, scrambled with rehydrated powder milk. They had kissed for the first time that night, Dean high on a good meal and Castiel  _actually_ high on some pot they’d found exploring a college dorm in Massachusetts.

So while they weren’t in any danger of starving or running out of fuel, batteries, stable buildings to crash in, even generators - the one thing the world  _did_ seem to be lacking was people. Castiel and Dean had been crisscrossing the US in the RV since they’d found each other, continuing Dean’s previous mission of painting signs on billboards that advertised, “ALIVE IN KANSAS CITY,” hoping that if there was someone else out there, eventually they’d see one. It had been almost a year now since the event, and they hadn’t run across a single other person. A few places they’d passed through did seem to have some suspicious signs of life, but either whoever was out there was always a few steps ahead of them, or they didn’t want to be found.

Or perhaps the idea of someone else being out there was just wishful thinking, the signs of life simply their lonely imaginations at work. The United States was vast, true, but between their own experiences in losing everyone they knew and the evidence at hand, the odds of stumbling upon another person, even if they  _were_ out there, seemed to become slimmer by the day. In fact, Dean and Castiel’s finding each other was probably against all odds in and of itself.

It had happened about four months after the event, Castiel knew because he had been keeping track marking the days in a journal. He had started the day after the Internet went down, thinking that was surely a sign that the state of things was officially beyond the point of no return. Part of him knew he should leave his little home on the coast of Washington. The closest big box store was over an hour away, and it could start snowing there as early as October. If there were any oceanic ramifications from the event, like a tsunami or storm, Castiel knew his tiny town could be wiped right off the map, never mind his little cottage that sat only a few hundred yards from the Pacific Ocean. But having nowhere else to go, and no one to go there with, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his garden and his home. His brother was buried in the backyard, the only family he’d ever really had, and it just didn’t seem right to leave him behind.

Dean had been driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, having just left Seattle on his billboard-defacing tour across the US. He’d taken his car and simply driven north from his hometown in Kansas, and then went west after reaching Chicago. He’d been on his way through Washington, planning on hitting all the major cities in California, when he saw the smoke. A little plume, too small to be a natural fire, too contained to be wild and known immediately that it was a sign of  _someone_. He’d never cut the wheel so hard in his life. “Sorry Baby,” he’d apologized to his car, patting her dashboard affectionately. “But as good as you are to me, I think I’m gonna lose it if I don’t find another person to talk to soon.” He’d pulled into Castiel’s driveway and hesitantly walked up to the door, and knocked. And Castiel actually  _answered_. Dean at least had his handgun at the ready, prepared to defend himself if the smoke-making survivor turned out to be some kind of psycho, but Castiel didn’t even bother. Just opened the door and stared at Dean with big, wide blue eyes. Honestly, Dean was for a moment struck dumb by the  _normalcy_ of it all. Knocking on the door of someone’s home and having them  _answer_. He couldn’t say he thought he’d experience something like this ever again, but here they were.

Dean thinks, looking back, that he might have fallen in love with Castiel just a little bit right then. At his  _faith_ , that there could be something  _good_ enough left in the empty world to simply open his door to. And after their initial shock wore off, and they’d established that they were mutually friendly, Castiel had ushered him in, helped him out of his jacket (and hung it on a  _rack_ , as if that was a perfectly normal thing to still do), and cooked him a fresh meal made up of stir-fried vegetables from his own garden. They’d hit it off from the start, Dean feeling like Castiel was someone he would have loved to meet at a bar and get to know slowly over late-night diner runs and lazy Sunday afternoon make-out sessions. It took them weeks to finally admit it, but as it turned out, Castiel felt the same. But that first night, they simply talked, enjoying their easy conversation and just occupying the same space as another person for the first time in months.

Dean was  _thankful_. So thankful, he remembers getting a little teary when Castiel admitted that he didn’t want to go to bed, afraid he would wake and find out that he had dreamed up Dean. They passed out eventually on Castiel’s couch, hands just barely brushing for mutual comfort. And when they woke, it was with bright, relieved smiles to find the other still there. Castiel had asked fairly quickly if he might accompany Dean on his journey, Dean then admitting that if Castiel didn’t want to go, he probably would have abandoned it. They picked out the RV shortly after from a dealership, locating a winch in order to tow Dean’s car behind. Returning to Castiel’s home, they packed the RV with everything that was important to him. Dean had squeezed his shoulder and promised they’d come back one day, and they’d both stood for a moment of silence and a few words over Castiel’s brother’s grave.

Castiel had lingered, looking out at the ocean and breathing the salt air, running his hands over the plants in his garden. Dean had reminded him that there was no rush, he could take all the time he needed, even going so far as to start bringing things back in from the RV until Castiel stopped him and shook his head. There was nothing left for him here, he had said, meeting Dean’s gaze in a surprisingly intense stare. Dean had wanted to kiss him, even then, but he’d just swallowed and turned away, letting Castiel follow him back to the RV. They’d set off as the sun set, Castiel’s eyes locked in the side mirror as his little house disappeared from view. He’d brushed a tear away, but then turned to Dean and simply said, “I’m OK. I’m glad to be here, Dean.” And Dean had reached over to clap him on the shoulder.

***

Approximately eight months and a totally illegitimate marriage ceremony inside New York City Hall (complete with rings from Tiffany’s, despite Dean’s protests-”I’m a  _simple_ guy, Cas!”) where they’d stamped their own marriage certificate, fuck the waiting period, later, here they were. Somewhere in the middle of I-95 South, on the way to Disney World to do god knows what, having  _very_ loud sex in the back of an RV that once cost more than Dean would have probably made in his lifetime.

But Castiel moving inside him is heaven, and Dean still can’t believe he gets to have this. In his wildest dreams, he never could have predicted that the end of the world would have been the beginning of his. “Fuck yes, harder Cas,” he demands, fingers tightening in the blanket under him. Castiel wraps his fingers around Dean’s thighs and hoists them up over his own for leverage.

“Like that?” He smirks, slamming home hard enough to make Dean groan and toss his head back. Castiel leans forward, biting Dean’s exposed neck and letting his teeth drag as he pulls away to resume thrusting hard. He slides a hand up Dean’s sweaty abdomen and chest, trailing his fingers along his jaw and pushing two between his plush lips, and Dean sucks obediently, holding eye contact with Castiel as he does. “Lovely,” Castiel breathes, removing his fingers only to wrap them around Dean’s cock, noting how Dean’s glassy green eyes dilate even further as he does. Those eyes drift slightly closed then and Dean’s breath stutters. Castiel fucks him slow and deep and jerks him off until he comes between them with a moan, working him through it before letting go to chase his own orgasm. When he comes inside Dean, Dean grabs his back and ass and pulls him in tight, like he’s afraid Castiel might disappear. “Shh,” Castiel soothes him, even as he comes down himself. He pulls out and flops beside Dean, his head on Dean’s shoulder, hand reaching up and threading into Dean’s short hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures him, even as Dean’s arm tightens around him.

They rest together quietly few moments, Dean breaking the silence by stretching and yawning loudly. “We should get going,” he says, reluctantly, moving to stand but Castiel pulls him back down, locking his arms around him tightly.

“Disney World will be there tomorrow,” he murmurs into Dean’s shoulder. “Just be with me,” he adds, as his eyes close against his will.

“Until the end of the world,” Dean jokes with a smile, and Castiel chuckles against his chest.

“Yes,” he says. “Me too.”


	2. Last Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds some pot, and Dean and Cas get together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my prompt fill for Promptober's "Ghibli".

Six months after the event and two months after they found each other, Dean and Castiel are in Massachusetts, spray painting “ALIVE IN KANSAS CITY” on any billboards they come across. They’d stopped over in Kansas City while traveling back across the US, but there were no signs of life as of yet, no notes or indication that someone had seen their signs and stopped or passed through. Castiel should probably feel more disappointed than he does, but he’s never been an excessively social person, and he’s surprisingly content with the life he and Dean are carving out together. There’s only one problem. Against his better judgement, Castiel has developed romantic feelings for Dean.

And who could blame him? Dean is kind and funny, charismatic and beautiful, at both times shockingly sensitive and endlessly brave. Castiel sometimes wonders if Dean knows exactly how he feels and is just too kind to rebuff him or set boundaries. Or perhaps Dean is just more afraid of being alone than he is of Castiel’s weird crush. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s struggling with the same dilemma. It’s those conflicting thoughts and fears that have kept Castiel from saying anything at all, even when Dean’s fingers linger on his as he hands over a cup of morning coffee, as he sits perhaps a little bit closer than could be consider platonic around their almost-nightly bonfire, when he places a hand on the small of Castiel’s back as they enter an abandoned building to explore and salvage. But then, that need for simple touch and comfort is a _human_ one, perhaps those small things are nothing but a side effect of Dean only _having_ Castiel to touch. Castiel tries not to think about it too much.

They’re currently in Boston, Massachusetts, parked on Lake Street off of Commonwealth Ave, taking in the outskirts of Boston College’s campus. There are dorms and other campus buildings all around them, the perfect spot for a salvage mission. Yesterday they’d explored the Natick mall, about a half hour away, and Castiel had discovered a chicken wandering down the middle of Route 9. Luckily, there’d been a Petco across the street from the mall, and Castiel had taken it upon himself to outfit the chicken with a collar and a leash. Dean’s face when he and the chicken had wandered back to the RV was priceless. Dean had dropped the bag of new flannels and t-shirts he’d been holding and whipped out his knife, babbling on about how he saw a turkey fryer in the Macy’s he’d just wandered through, and how they’d be “eating good tonight, Cas!” Castiel had to physically get between Dean and his new animal friend at first, but with the promise of all but endless fresh eggs, Dean had reluctantly relented and put his knife away. After they’re done raiding the dorms, Castiel has plans to scramble up some for him.

Castiel follows Dean inside a newer looking dorm that’s been made to look as if it’s been mostly constructed from glass and stone. The lobby is light and airy, two stories high and painted bright white, with dark wood accents on the ceiling, walls, and furniture. It hardly even looks like a college dorm and Dean whistles. His mouth opens to make a comment but he stops short when he sees a blood smear trailing along one of the walls leading towards the living areas. The two men exchange a glance but ultimately continue on. Gore, death, bodies left to rot where they fell - these are the realities of the world after the event. It wasn’t like they weren’t expecting to find the bodies of some of these students still here. The blood trail stops at the first door they come to, and by mutual silent consent, they move past it. The next door is cracked open, saving them the trouble of busting it.

Castiel finds himself turning around as if to “keep watch” while Dean pushes the door open. He knows it’s unnecessary, but old habits die hard. Dean takes a careful sniff of the air inside the apartment, and gives Castiel a thumbs up behind his back, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “Think this one’s empty,” he says as he moves inside. The room turns out to be a suite of sorts, with a common area, three bedrooms with two beds apiece, a shared living area with big windows, a kitchen and a shared bathroom. Everything looks relatively intact. Perhaps these students were some of the first ill and made it to the campus Health Center, because it didn’t appear as if they’d suffered and died here.

 _Good for them, I guess,_ Castiel thinks, wondering distractedly if there could really be any such thing as a “good” death. Dean heads straight for the kitchen, rooting through cabinets and throwing anything that looks good (Castiel catches him eyeing the ramen in disgust, but sees him pick it up anyway) into the large drawstring tote he brought with. He picks up a DVD that’s laying on the counter. “Anything good?” Castiel asks, hoping they can add to their small but smartly curated DVD collection in the RV.

Dean shrugs and holds it up. “Spirited Away? That’s one of those… damn, what’s the word? Jiggly? Giblets? Fuck, Gigli? No, that’s a shittly J.Lo movie….”

“Ghibli!” Castiel volunteers, proud that he could out-pop-culture Dean for once. More often than not, Dean’s references went sailing over his head. Dean stares at him like he has three heads.

“You don’t know the difference between Star Trek and Star Wars, but you can remember _Ghibli?_ Man, we need to get your priorities in order.” He shakes his head and goes back to raiding the cabinets, but Castiel notices that he puts the movie into his bag.

Castiel decides to be a bit more selective than Dean… they can find ramen anywhere yet, it’s hardly worth taking. He wanders into the first bedroom and finds it stripped to the bones, nothing left, so he moves on. In the second one, the twin beds are still made up with cheap, brightly colored sheets and comforters. There are two matching desks, each with a laptop still sitting on them, and books lined up across their built in shelves. There’s a few bottles of Tylenol and Advil, the only signs that the room’s occupants were starting to feel unwell when they left, but otherwise, it’s like a frozen moment in time. Castiel ignores the medicine, they have plenty of that, and picks up a book. _Embers,_ by Sandor Marai, and by that Castiel guesses he’s in the room of an English or literature major. He thumbs through the other books on the shelf, not finding anything that catches his eye until the one on the end.

It’s untitled, heavy and thick, but when he pulls it out it feels surprisingly light. When Castiel flips it open, he can’t help but grin. “Jackpot,” he calls to Dean, and then chuckles at his own joke.

“What’s up,” Dean asks from the doorway, leaning casually on the frame. Castiel turns to show him, but his words catch in his mouth. The light from the afternoon sun is tipping through the half-shaded windows at just the right angle to fall across Dean’s face, and he looks breathtaking. The irises of his eyes reflect a bright, sea-foam green that Castiel saw once during a rare family vacation to the Emerald Coast as a child. Dean’s tanned skin almost seems to glow, and the man himself has such a soft, warm look about him that Castiel has a hard time hiding the hitch in his breath. Dean is looking at him with amusement, raising his eyebrows in expectation, and Castiel remembers why he called. He shows Dean the book. “Um… nice?” Dean says politely, and Castiel grins.

He moves towards Dean, opening the cover of the book as he goes. “You shouldn’t judge books by their covers, Dean,” he says teasingly as Dean’s eyes light up when he sees the contents.

“Pot?! No friggin way. Man I looked for this stuff all up and down California, no luck. I’m convinced nobody looted the grocery stores there because they were all high from robbing the dispensaries.” Dean reaches for the baggie and Castiel slams the book shut, narrowly missing his fingers.

“After dinner,” he promises, sweeping past Dean to put the book into Dean’s tote bag.

“What are you, my mother?” Dean grumbles, but he’s smiling.

They peruse some more of the apartment-like dorm rooms and find a few interesting things to take back with them. As the sun starts to sink lower, they call it a day. Back at the RV, Dean makes a campfire and Castiel prepares the eggs that “Alfie” laid. There are only two, but Castiel adds some herbs that he grows in mini planters, transplanted from his garden, and beats them with reconstituded powdered milk. He also gets a tin of stew that he and Dean can share, knowing the eggs won’t be enough to fill them up. When Dean is ready, Castiel scrambles the eggs in a pan with a bit of olive oil over the open fire and heats the stew in a pot on the edge of the flame. It’s all worth it when Dean takes that first bite and makes an all-but pornographic noise. Not that Castiel can blame him, it’s been the better part of a year since either of them have had anything remotely resembling fresh food. That doesn’t mean Castiel can help reacting to the noise Dean makes, though. His fork stops halfway to his mouth, and he knows he’s staring at Dean with wide eyes.

Dean doesn’t even seem to notice, just shovels the rest of the eggs in, and Castiel thinks he even sees a little wetness gathering in Dean’s eyes. He puts his fork down, and offers the rest to Dean, who tries multiple times to refuse, but Castiel insists, telling him that he’s never been much for eggs, anyway, and he’d rather have the stew. He can tell Dean doesn’t believe him, but he takes the plate gratefully and thanks Castiel. Honestly, Castiel could care less, because he gets to hear more of those noises.

He shovels his canned meal quickly, not overly bothered by the tastelessness. By the time he’s done, Dean is leaning back in his camping chair, unwrapping one of the tiny apple pies he found a box of in the second apartment they visited. While he does that, Castiel pulls out the hollow book and removes its contents. He packs some of the pot into the glass bowl that was also hidden in there, and hopes he’s doing it correctly - it’s been years since he’s tried anything like this. Dean tosses him a lighter and he takes a deep hit, coughing and sputtering but feeling the drug rush to his head all the same. Vaguely he hopes that this isn’t one of those shitty strains that make you feel crazy paranoid and vomit, but he supposes it’s too late to worry now.

He offers Dean the bowl, but Dean shakes his head with a little smile. “Nah man, I’m good. Gonna grab some whiskey from inside in a few.”

Castiel nods and settles back in his chair. They relax like that in companionable silence, staring at the stars and watching the smoke Castiel blows out drift away in the light breeze. When the fire starts to die down, Dean shivers a little. “Head inside?” Castiel asks out of habit, they have almost the same routine every night. Dean stretches and gets up, heading over to where the generator is and pulling the ripcord to start it. They’ll run it for a couple hours, using that time to heat up the interior of the RV a little, take showers, wash their clothes in the machine if they need to and then settle in to watch some of a sitcom or movie out of Dean’s DVD collection. While fuel isn’t something they’re lacking, they don’t want to end up stranded somewhere without emergency generator power if they need it, so they never run the machine all night. These small luxuries are plenty for them. Not for the first time, Castiel marvels at just how compatible he and Dean really are. Neither of them is easygoing necessarily, they just… fit. Quirks and all.

Castiel showers quickly, and Dean follows after to do the same. It’s not laundry night, so within a half hour, they’re settled in with “Spirited Away” playing. Castiel isn’t paying attention though, his focus is on the man next to him. The pot clouding his brain hasn’t dampened his attraction to Dean in the _least._ In fact, Castiel thinks it’s made it worse. His hands are aching to reach out and take the other man’s in his own, and every breath Dean takes Castiel thinks about swallowing. He thinks about the sleeping situation. He and Dean have shared a bed every night since that first one when they fell asleep on the couch together at his old home. Both of them share the same insecurities about waking up alone again, and it just seemed… natural. They don’t touch or cuddle, Castiel stays on his side and Dean on his, and it’s never been an issue. But _tonight…_ Castiel is honestly afraid he might do something stupid, something that could ruin everything.

He’s starting to get a little worked up, picking at the fibers on his jeans and breathing a little heavy, and Dean notices. “Cas? You Okay buddy? Get a can of bad stew?”

Castiel attempts a subtle, casual nod, but knows that he fails. Maybe if he goes to bed before Dean, he can fall asleep and forget about his desires. He forces a yawn and gives a half-hearted, awkward stretch. “I think I’m gonna head to bed early,” he says, moving to stand, when something surprising happens.

Dean catches his wrist and pulls him back. In the same movement, he’s sliding close to Castiel until their thighs are touching, and Dean is in his _space._ “Whoa,” Castiel says, closing his eyes and shaking his head to clear it as Dean’s perfect eyes fill his vision. “Strange.” When he opens them again, it’s Dean’s smile he sees.

“Cas,” Dean says, still grasping his wrist. “I know you’re high and all, and I don’t want to take advantage. Plus we’ve got the whole… last two people on earth thing going on, and the last thing I want to do is ruin that, but…” he hesitates, chewing on his lip, and Castiel stares at the movement in abject fascination. “I really want to kiss you.”

Castiel blinks several times and then bursts out laughing. Dean lets go of his wrist then, and Castiel calms down enough to say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Dean but I must be _incredibly_ high because I thought you just said you wanted to _kiss_ me.” He laughs again and Dean’s face falls, only for a moment before he schools it into a mask of indifference, but Castiel doesn’t miss it. He looked heartbroken. “Oh my god,” he says. “You want to kiss me?”

Dean forces a laugh as he moves to get up off of the couch, “No man, I was just, you know, fucking with you cuz you’re high and stuff - hey listen, I’m going to go for a-”

He never gets to finish his terrible attempt at backtracking because Castiel is up off the couch and pressed flush against him before he can. The press of lips is a little too hard at first, and Dean is initially too surprised to reciprocate, but within moments they’re figuring it out. Hands move through hair and slide up and down each other’s backs, gripping at shoulders and waists. Dean’s tongue swipes at the seam of Castiel’s lips and he opens with a little moan, partly from want and partly from relief. They pull back and press back together repeatedly, neither seeming interested in letting go or coming up for air.

That night, Castiel and Dean _really_ share a bed for the first time, and Dean forgets to shut down the generator. They both agree that it’s well worth the wasted fuel.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the kind of RV I imagine them tooling around in:
> 
> [Dean and Cas' Luxury RV](https://www.newmarcorp.com/luxury-motor-coaches/king-aire/)
> 
>  
> 
> Nice, right?! He'd have to haul around a generator too, but that seems prudent anyway.


End file.
